


Bloodlust

by Felixbug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood, M/M, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Anders grabbed Hawke’s face between his hands, jerking his chin up and crashing their lips together. It was too rough, too clumsy, clashing teeth and bitten lips as Hawke gasped against his mouth before curling his hand around the back of Anders’ neck and kissing back hard. Anders could taste the film of blood on Hawke’s lips, salt and copper and the faint hum of lyrium threaded through it, and he felt his skin pulse as Justice pushed up within him to steal the taste from his tongue. Anders groaned and Justice growled and their voice was a vibrating echo of desire as Anders shoved Hawke back against the wall of the cave, feet slipping in the blood pooled at their feet.</i> </p><p>Written for an anonymous prompt on Tumblr, requesting Anders/Hawke in the immediate aftermath of a bloody battle with Templars. PWP, a little kinky, a lot bloody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: prompt uM anders looking up after battle to hawke surrounded by templar corpses covered in blood like OH FUCK. justice agrees, shoves any shame aside, basically justice hovering so near the surface 'talking' anders through fucking hawke blood everywhere heyy
> 
> The violence happens pre-fic, but there is a LOT of blood. Also explicit rough sex, of course.

Through the haze of shared fury, the hot, metallic stench of blood, and the roar of his pulse in his ears, Anders had only one thought. _Hawke._ He shouldn’t have brought him – he’d done everything he could to keep him separate from the mage underground and the risks they took. If he’d been hurt – _Maker_ , if he’d been killed…

His skin still glowed faintly in the dim light of the cave, Justice had faded back into his mind but he was still alert, the sharp taste of the Fade clung to the back of Anders’ tongue and he could feel the faint static hum across his skin. His hands were still curled tightly around his staff, gripping the worn wood white-knuckled as if it was life itself. It had been, for a moment. That had been close. Too close.

“Is it always this easy?”

Anders looked up from the dead Templar at his feet to Hawke. He was standing – wounded, but not badly, even through the sickening lurch of anxiety in his gut Anders could see that – with one foot braced on the body of a Templar as he wrenched his sword out from the mangled armour. The steel was coated in blood, dripping from the blade, smeared across the hilt – Anders trailed his eyes up over Hawke’s body, following the pattern of splashes and misted droplets. His armour was red with it, his face lined with descending droplets, scarlet streaks across tanned skin and clotting thickly in his beard. There was a shallow gash in his side where a piece of his armour had been knocked loose, his lip was split where one desperate, disarmed Templar had lashed out with a gauntleted fist but he was _laughing,_ a flash of white teeth in his gore-streaked face.

“Easy?” Anders took a shaky breath. “ _Easy_?” His heart was racing – it had been _meant_ to be an easy job, sabotaging a supposedly unguarded store of lyrium beneath the Gallows – but they’d been unprepared and outnumbered and it had been too close. He lunged forward, casting his staff aside to slip his hand into the gap in Hawke’s armour and press it over the wound in his side.

Hawke hissed and gripped Anders’ shoulder to steady himself as Anders poured magic into the gash, feeling flesh knit together under his fingers. He was shaking – fear giving way to relief, still filled with rage and disgust from the initial sight of Templars surrounding them. He hated them, hated them so much it _hurt,_ and Justice had filled his body with strength and fury enough to fight but it wasn’t enough. Four dead and he wasn’t satisfied, he wanted – they wanted – blood and screams and the tearing of flesh in their bare hands.

Anders’ magic stuttered in his hand and almost died – he pushed harder, just enough to seal the wound and it was gone. Justice was too close to the surface, pushing forward eagerly at the thought of dead Templars and – Anders turned towards Hawke, breathing in sharply. The scent of blood wasn’t just blood – there was a sharp, bitter scent on the air, a smell that wasn’t quite a smell, that dragged across the roof of his mouth and crawled inside his skull. _Lyrium._

He looked at Hawke, just inches apart, both breathing heavily from the fight, sweat and blood and that enticing lyrium scent mingling into something intoxicating and irresistible. Heat coiled in Anders’ gut and sank lower, his skin felt flushed and oversensitive and Justice was snarling in his mind, raw hunger and urgency and an unspoken demand to touch him, taste him, _now._

Anders grabbed Hawke’s face between his hands, jerking his chin up and crashing their lips together. It was too rough, too clumsy, clashing teeth and bitten lips as Hawke gasped against his mouth before curling his hand around the back of Anders’ neck and kissing back hard. Anders could taste the film of blood on Hawke’s lips, salt and copper and the faint hum of lyrium threaded through it, and he felt his skin pulse as Justice pushed up within him to steal the taste from his tongue. Anders groaned and Justice growled and their voice was a vibrating echo of desire as Anders shoved Hawke back against the wall of the cave, feet slipping in the blood pooled at their feet.

 _Bite._ It wasn’t a word in his mind, not quite – not a command, more of an urge. A prickling behind his teeth and a guiding hand in his thoughts, directing his desires. _Suck. Taste._ Anders brushed his lips against Hawke’s neck, then opened his mouth against the warm, blood-slick flesh. He sucked hard, grazing his teeth across Hawke’s skin and lapping at it with his tongue. He was moaning, urgent sounds at the back of his throat as Hawke tilted his head back with a ragged gasp.

“There could be more Templars,” Hawke panted.

“I will kill them.” Anders wasn’t sure if it was him who spoke or Justice - it didn’t matter. It felt so good to be like this, minds in sync with no divide, just pure intent. They would claim Hawke as theirs here, beneath the Templar’s place. Let any Templar who found them see – an apostate abomination drenched in the blood of men who’d served the Chantry, defiling their eager Champion with every touch. The City thought they’d claimed him, but Anders knew Hawke was his. _Ours,_ he thought, tasting the Fade on his tongue as he kissed Hawke again. _Ours. Ours._

His hands found the buckles of Hawke’s armour with practised ease, and Hawke’s hands fumbled alongside his to let it fall to the ground piece by piece.

“There’s enough gone,” Hawke groaned. “You don’t need to – you can touch me…” he guided Anders’ hand to the hardness between his legs and Anders pushed against it, grinding roughly through the fabric.

“I will not just _touch_ you.” Justice was howling against the inside of his skull, every beat of his heart sent pulses of blue through his veins. “I want you on your knees on the ground, _now_.”

“Oh – oh fucking Maker, Anders…”

Hawke’s breastplate crashed to the ground and Anders tore at his clothing beneath, fingers gripping in shredded cloth as he parted it to nip and suck at his skin. He dug his fingers into Hawke’s hips with a growl and Hawke knelt, eager and submissive at the slightest hint of Justice’s glow flaring through his skin.

“I love you like this,” Hawke grinned up at him. The cut on his mouth was bleeding freely, a thick stream of blood staining his teeth, pooling on his lower lip and descending over his chin. “Is this you? Justice? I don’t – fuck, I don’t care, I just want to know…”

“You want to know who’s fucking your throat?” Anders said. He gripped Hawke’s hair and twisted his head back, his other hand groping beneath his coat to unfasten his trousers and free his cock. “I want you. He wants you. We…” he smeared the head of his cock across Hawke’s bloodied lips and his breath caught at the unbelievable heat and slick wetness. “We will both feel this.”

Hawke’s lips parted for him, and Anders thrust forward with a moan. Justice was restless in his mind, his essence coiled around every thought, jagged flashes of white-hot need splintering across Anders’ thoughts as he demanded _more, faster, now._ Anders held back for a moment, feeling the teasing swipe of Hawke’s tongue against the head of his cock, watching those full lips close around his length. Hawke looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, and he moved, shallow strokes up and down around the tip of Anders’ cock. The glistening wetness left behind was tinted red, and when Anders let his hand slip from Hawke’s hair to cup his jaw he saw his fingers were coated in the congealing blood.

The encouragement in the back of his mind became a roar, every muscle in his body shaking with the effort of holding back from sliding into the hot, tight throat beneath him. A rush of fragmented words and images ripped through his mind, every one screaming at him to thrust hard, tip Hawke’s head back and sink into him until he gagged around him. Justice’s frustrated snarl at the delay breeched the barrier between them, curling his lip and tearing from his throat. Anders’ hand tightened in Hawke’s hair and he rocked forward, dragging Hawke down to the base of his cock in one steady thrust.

Hawke’s eager whine was choked off sharply – he gagged, tongue twitching and throat constricting as Anders pushed forward firmly. He gripped Hawke’s hair and twisted his head further back and began to move, slowly but not gently, the dark strands of Hawke’s hair twisted tightly around his fingers as he thrust into the slick tightness. Hawke’s eyes widened and watered, and Anders’ steady thrusts forced a trickle of drool from between his lips to mingle with the thick flow of blood. Anders growled low in his throat, and he felt Justice writhe within his mind – they drowned in sensation together. Hot wet drips from Hawke’s mouth trailed over his balls and ran down his thighs, the little jerks of Hawke’s tongue that pressed against his cock as he moved, the exquisite heat and tightness that gripped the head and the smooth glide of lips around the shaft. It built and built, pleasure curling at the base of his spine, blinding jolts of heat sparking in his nerves spreading from the tip of his cock out across his body until he was shaking and grunting with every thrust. Hawke reached up to push at Anders’ hip, and he drew back to let him take a few harsh, shuddering breaths.

“More,” Hawke gasped, and Anders eagerly slid between those inviting lips again. He let Hawke set the pace – Justice filled his mind with the image of Hawke forced down onto the bloody ground, choking and whimpering as Anders used his mouth, but Anders preferred this – slow, skilled strokes that left him shaking. Hawke’s tongue flickered over the head of his cock, then trailed down his length followed by the barest hint of teeth. Anders watched him, releasing his hair to palm Hawke’s cheek and smear the blood across his cheekbone. Hawke’s eyes fluttered closed with a groan that hummed through Anders’ cock, his tongue swirled over him, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and it was too much – too much soft, wet heat, too much agonizingly intense movement, blood that still clung to Anders’ lips and the slick, sticky feel of it on his hands. Justice’s mind was flooding into his, they groaned together, sparks dancing in their vision as their minds collided, fought for control and conceded to shared pleasure. Anders’ hips jerked forward, his cock throbbed, and he came hard with a rough cry, blue light branching across his skin like a lightning strike.

Justice quieted in his mind, still interested and only skin-deep, but far less forceful now he was satisfied. Anders felt exhaustion from the fight hit him hard, he dropped to his knees and pulled Hawke into a deep kiss, tasting the salted bitterness of the mingled fluids on his lips and running bloody fingers over Hawke’s bared chest. The Templars would not take this man from him – he was warm and alive and safe, bloody and victorious, arching into Anders’ touch.

“Lie back,” he groaned against Hawke’s lips.

Hawke did as he was told, and the faint thought _ours_ rippled through his mind again. Anders looked down at Hawke, his blood-splattered warrior surrounded by the cooling pools of thick gore coating the ground. Anders’ smeared hand prints marked his chest, his face and neck were wholly red and his shoulders and back were coated as he settled against the cave floor. Justice’s protective rumble echoed in Anders’ chest as he braced himself over Hawke’s body to look down at him.

“You alright, love?” Hawke asked – and only Hawke _would_  ask that, bleeding and surrounded by dead Templars, pinned beneath a shifting mix of man and spirit, he could see that Anders was shaken as much as he was eager. He could see loss where Anders could only show need.

“They will not take you,” he growled, wrapping his hand around Hawke’s cock.

“Never,” Hawke gasped.

Anders sank back on his knees and wrapped his lips around Hawke’s cock. The thick, lyrium-tainted taste of Templar blood had spread from his fingers to Hawke’s skin and he lapped at it eagerly, desperately, moaning against him as he took Hawke’s length deep. He swallowed around him, letting faint sparks jump from his tongue until Hawke’s hips jerked and his hands scrabbled at Anders’ shoulders and his writhing body rippled the blood pooled around them. Hawke was gasping a breathless litany of Anders’ name – Justice’s name – slipping back and forth the between the two as Anders slipped a faintly glowing hand between his legs to tease his entrance. He let a flurry of weak sparks form at his fingertips and Hawke half-screamed, half-sobbed his release, cock pulsing in Anders’ mouth and flooding his tongue with the taste of him.

Anders crawled up over Hawke’s body, trailing kisses over his chest before finally collapsing against him, clinging to the comforting, solid body beneath him. They needed to move – they needed to be gone from here before more Templars arrived. He could still feel Justice’s protective prickling at the thought, and let his mind curl up against it even as his body sought out Hawke. Just a moment to catch his breath. Just a moment to remember that they’d survived.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks actualanders from Tumblr for beta reading! You can find me on Tumblr too, I'm felixbug on there as well :)


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